


Alter

by OzQueen



Series: CP 100 situations [18]
Category: Captain Planet and the Planeteers
Genre: 100 situations, Dirty Talk, F/M, One Shot, Roleplay, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/pseuds/OzQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gi can speak French, and Wheeler digs a chick with an accent...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alter

**Author's Note:**

> Er... This is the dirtiest thing I've ever written, I think. I mean it's really, really smutty.
> 
> Also, my French is unbeta'd. I think it's okayyyy. But if you're fluent in French you might spot some weird mistakes.
> 
> So, there's an episode (Jailhouse Flock?) where Gi has to do a phony French accent to get past Rigger. And um, for some reason my mind was all, "Wheeler would totally ask her to do a French chambermaid impression when all this is over."
> 
> Annnd that's what got me here. Applause to mudget, for beta'ing! Also, thanks to mudget and frankiealton for encouraging this craziness in the first place.
> 
> Dedicated to anyone else who ships Wheeler/Gi like crazy, because omg they're so adorable. (Gi is pretty much adorable with anyone, but whatever...)

* * *

The late afternoon sun is hot, but the plan is almost in place. (At least, Gi thinks it is. She's still not sure what she's supposed to be doing.)

Wheeler turns to her, the sun gleaming on his hair. Sweat and dust is on his brow and he looks feverishly excited. (He always loves the way-out plans; the ones that sound like they've been dragged from some sort of Hollywood blockbuster.)

"Gi?" he asks. "How's your French?"

" _Mon fran_ _çais est parfait,"_ Gi says, smiling at him. _"Pourquoi demandez-vous?"_

He blinks at her for a minute, and then gives her a grin he usually reserves only for Linka. "Nice," he breathes. "I was just askin' for an accent..."

"Oh," Gi says, feeling slightly foolish. She smiles and shrugs. "Well, I can do that too. Why?"

"We'll need you to take care of Rigger," Wheeler says. He stares at her for another long second, before he shakes his head and blinks a couple of times, ridding himself of his daze. "Fancy playin' the stranded tourist role?"

She smiles and shrugs. "Sounds like fun."

* * *

All she has to do is convince Rigger that her car has broken down. She's swathed in a purple skirt and a jacket that's too tight under the arms. A hat with a veil masks her face. It smells like mothballs and makes it hard to see.

" _Excusez-moi,_ " she calls, knocking on the door of the trailer Rigger and Greedly have been holed up in.

Rigger's strong and wiry, and pretty ruthless – but he's not very clever. One look at Gi and he's tripping over himself to help her, rushing out the door with a tyre iron and hasty promises that he's the one to get her back on track again.

She rolls her eyes and tosses the stifling veil aside before she pulls a camera out and starts taking photos. There's a bikini pin-up calendar on the wall and her skin crawls at the sight of it.

And then she remembers how awestruck Wheeler got when she spoke French earlier. She almost giggles aloud – but she has a job to do, and not much time to do it in.

Abusing Wheeler's obvious infatuation with accents can wait until later.

* * *

On the flight home, when they're all dusty and exhausted but oddly happy because they've managed to win again, Wheeler leans over in his seat to murmur quietly to Gi.

"Nice work, mademoiselle."

She smiles at him. " _Merci._ "

"Next time, we'll skip the purple skirt and veil and find you a chambermaid costume."

She smacks his arm and he laughs and falls back into his seat, grinning at her before he turns back to the window and heaves a sigh, closing his eyes.

Gi can't sleep. She keeps smiling; pleased at her role in the plan that got Greedly shut down; pleased that something as ridiculous as speaking another language has earned her attention she's never really received before.

(Even if it is only from Wheeler.)

She sneaks another look at him. There are funny butterflies in her stomach and a new tightness to her skin she hasn't ever really felt before.

She turns toward the window and closes her eyes, willing sleep to come and force away the strangeness of the day.

* * *

Wheeler hasn't forgotten Gi's bilingual talents the next day. He seeks her out, his hair still pillow-flattened, a bowl of cereal in his hands, and sinks down beside her in the sand.

Her hair is still wet from her morning swim.

"So," he says, munching cornflakes. "I didn't know you spoke French."

She smiles and shrugs, towelling her hair with her fingers. "My parents moved around a lot," she says. "We lived on a boat most of the time and went wherever their work took us. French is just a convenient language to know, I guess."

"Is that why you speak English so well?" he asks, looking at her.

"I guess, yeah."

"And why you speak with an American accent?"

She blinks at him. "I do?"

He grins slowly. "Totally."

She frowns and tries to picture her own voice in her head. "I guess so," she says awkwardly. "We spent a lot of time in America."

He tilts his bowl to his mouth and drains his milk. "French is sexier," he says after a minute.

She smirks. "You have a thing for accents, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that," he says defensively.

"Oh, please," Gi says, grinning at him. She gets to her feet and brushes sand away. "And that French chambermaid comment you made yesterday? I'm starting to feel a little uncomfortable with how much I know about you and your _fantasies,_ Wheeler."

He laughs and kicks half-heartedly at her. "Find me a guy who _doesn't_ like French chambermaids, Gi."

She wrinkles her nose. "I don't have a uniform like that anyway," she says. "Tough luck."

He clucks his tongue and shrugs. "A guy can dream."

She laughs and walks away from him, her heart racing.

* * *

It becomes a running joke between the two of them. Wheeler starts asking her to clear away his things, " _S'il vous plaît,_ chambermaid," and she swears back at him in French _and_ English.

When she needs a favour, she asks him in breathless French. _"Voulez-vous m'aider à résoudre le sous-marin?"_

His eyes always widen slightly and his jaw goes slack.

She laughs at him and beckons. "I need help fixing the eco-sub, Wheeler."

"Oh," he says, tripping after her.

* * *

When the Planeteers have a few days off, Gi takes the opportunity to clear out her bedroom. She starts bagging up piles of old clothes – things she never wears – ready to take them to a charity next time they fly the geo-cruiser out.

She finds bits and pieces from old Halloween costumes, and a wicked idea forms in her head.

It's not quite a chambermaid, but she thinks she could pull of the genre of Little French Waitress.

She waits until dark, because even practical jokes can be embarrassing, and she has no desire to show Kwame, Linka or Ma-Ti just how ridiculous the French joke between herself and Wheeler has become.

She puts on a dress that deserves capital letters in front of Little, Black and Dress, and ties a flimsy little apron around her waist. She pulls on black stockings – which she's never worn before and is unlikely to ever wear again – making sure the garters are just visible beneath the hem.

It's the best she can do, but she figures with the French accent, it'll be enough for Wheeler. He's no Rigger when it comes to this sort of disguise, but he can still get carried away – enough so it'll be fun.

She hurries along the path, praying the others are all settled for the night – and praying that Wheeler is in his hut, not sprawled in front of the television in the rec room.

She knocks quietly.

"Yeah?"

She draws in a deep breath and opens his door, stepping neatly into his hut.

The ridiculousness is worth it when he drops the book he's reading to the floor. His mouth falls open. She shuts the door quietly and smirks at him.

" _Je m'appelle Gi, et je serai votre serveuse ce soir."_

Wheeler props himself up on his elbows. He tilts his head to the side. "I hope you just made a crack about serving me something," he says.

She smiles and leans against his closed bedroom door, her arms folded behind her back.

"Say somethin' else," he demands quietly.

"Like what?" She cocks her eyebrow at him.

He grins. "Say somethin' dirty to me."

"Ah," she says, standing tall and taking a few knowing steps toward him. " _Vous aimez paler sale?"_

He's still half sitting up, watching her with wide eyes and a look on his face that can only be described as lust.

She's not sure what will happen when she reaches him. It's just a game, she thinks. She tells herself that if she takes it slow enough, things will stop at the right moment and they'll laugh about it.

" _Aimez-vous les filles vilaines?"_ she asks. She smirks, and then whispers in English, "Do you like naughty girls?"

He matches her smirk perfectly. "Is that what you are?"

She shrugs, watching him watch the way her hips move. " _Peut-être._ _"_

He chuckles, and then she's right beside his bed with nowhere else to go. She stands there nervously, not sure how far to take it. (Almost) uncomfortable with the fact she doesn't seem to want to leave yet, despite how complicated this could become. (Or has already become.)

Wheeler reaches out and strokes his fingers down the smooth nylon against her thigh. "Keep goin'," he says.

She has no idea what she wants, really. She thinks being there is a mistake, but can't bring herself to say it in English. _"Je ne sais pas ce que je fai ici,_ " she whispers nervously. " _C'est une erreur."_

His hand glides against her thigh. Suddenly she's not sure if it's her breathing or his that seems to be filling the silence of the room.

His fingers stroke behind her knee, and it feels only natural to follow the downward movement of his hand and sink gently down beside him.

He meets her halfway, and kissing him doesn't feel as awkward as she had predicted it would.

The French, and the costume, and the _game_ of it all – it's just enough to alter reality. Just enough to make things seem not quite real. Just enough to make it all right.

"Keep talkin'," Wheeler whispers

" _Mettez votre langue dans ma bouche,"_ she says. She kisses him again and this time opens her mouth. His tongue slides over her lower lip and shivers race down her spine.

His hands slide over her. He's almost too eager, and she wonders exactly how often he's been thinking about this and how far the fantasy has developed inside his own head.

(She tells herself she hasn't been thinking about it at all; that this is a moment of impulse and not anything _she_ has actually fantasised about.)

"Where did you get this costume?" he asks, curling his fingers beneath the tops of her stockings.

She closes her eyes when his mouth presses warm and open against her pulse. "It's just a black dress and a flimsy little apron, Wheeler. I wouldn't call it a costume."

"Works for me," he murmurs. He pulls at the garter straps holding her stockings up and she knows they're going to be ripped and useless by the time he's done, but she doesn't care.

"Keep talkin', mademoiselle," he whispers.

" _Dépêche_ ," she gasps. " _Déshabillez-moi."_

She wants to be naked. She feels feverishly hot, like her blood is running just barely beneath the surface of her skin, warming every inch of her. She wants the waitress costume – such as it is – gone.

(She does not, however, want to be more Gi than French seductress – just in case it leads to ideas of intimacy, rather than impulse. Which, she reminds herself again, is all this is.)

She's not sure if Wheeler is thinking the same sort of thing, or if he's just really eager to have a naked woman in his bed. (Probably the latter.)

In his haste, he pops two of her buttons and they fly to the floor. He peels her dress open and strokes his hands over her stomach, brushing the bare swells of her breasts with his thumbs.

"Mademoiselle," he says huskily, his mouth against the dip of her throat, "you're not wearing much under your apron."

 _The less clothing for you to destroy, the better_ , she thinks. _"Touchez-moi,_ " she says. She takes his hand and positions it over her breast, splaying his fingers against her skin, which burns in the cool air of his bedroom. _"Utilisez votre bouche."_

She sucks against the fingers of his other hand and arches up toward his mouth. His lips close over her nipple and she grazes her teeth against the pad of his thumb with a soft whimper of approval.

He stops just long enough to strip his t-shirt over his head, before he lowers his mouth to her again, his fingers gliding against her skin. He fumbles again with her stockings.

" _Arrêter,"_ she says, taking his hand. She shoves against his shoulder and rolls him over.

He doesn't fight. He grabs her hips and pulls her forward, leaning upward to kiss her again.

She unsnaps her suspenders and pushes her stockings down to her knees. Her legs are clamped against Wheeler's sides and she's sitting just over his hips.

He reaches down and strokes the sole of her foot through the thin mesh of her stockings and she shivers. Then he sits up and kisses her again, one hand cupping her face, his other arm winding around her to hold her against him.

She lets him shape her and shift her, following his gentle prodding and stroking and pulling until she finds herself pressed right up against him, her fingers twined in his hair and his mouth hot against hers.

"You're good at this," she whispers, without thinking about it.

"You've got your languages, I've got mine," he murmurs back, not missing a beat.

She laughs and kisses him again, rolling her hips slowly against him.

" _Ja veux ta bite,_ " she whispers, pressing her mouth against his neck. " _Ja veux ta bite..._ "

"Gi," he says, his fingers curling against her skin, "how far... I mean..."

"Just keep going," she says, her eyes closed. She rocks her hips again. "Don't stop."

"Keep talkin', then," he says, nuzzling against her neck. His hips move slowly beneath hers.

" _Je veux que vous me baiser la chatte,"_ she whispers, tightening her fingers in his hair. She tugs gently, directing his mouth down her neck to her shoulder, and then tugs again, urging him down.

He grins. "Oh." He curls his tongue, leaving a wet trail down her body that causes her skin to tighten.

He tugs her apron off and finishes opening her dress, his fingers fumbling with the buttons down the front.

She shrugs out of it impatiently and tosses it to the floor, before she arches up on her knees and rids herself of the suspender belt.

Wheeler grabs her hips before she moves to peel her stockings the rest of the way off.

"You want them left on?" she asks breathlessly, grinning down at him.

"Only fair to leave you with _some_ modesty," he says, grinning at her. "Considerin' they're all you've got left."

She shrugs. "What can I say? I wanted to make it easy for you."

"Sure you didn't want to make it hard?"

She laughs and pushes against his shoulders, forcing him back against the bed. _"Arrêtez de parler,"_ she says. " _Je veux que vous utilisez votre langue sur ma chatte."_

Wheeler's hands tighten on her hips. "I'll do whatever the fuck you want," he whispers. "Just keep talkin' like that."

She kisses him again before she wriggles her hips toward him. He slides down the bed, kicking his jeans off and squirming his body down underneath hers until her thighs are against the sides of his face.

She lifts her hips in anticipation. She can feel his breath against the smooth skin of her thighs. He nudges her knees further apart, spreading her legs. He takes hold of her hips again and guides her into position above his mouth.

"Fuck," she gasps.

He flicks his tongue. "That ain't French."

His breath is hot against her. Her thighs tremble. She reaches up, desperate to grab hold of something and grip it, her body tense and quivering. She finds nothing, so clenches one hand in his hair instead, the other in her own, her head back, eyes closed.

"Fuck," she says again, her hips jerking.

Wheelers hands tighten on her hips, holding her down against him, pulling her weight toward him.

" _Fuck,_ oh God," Gi sobs.

Gi's not really a stranger to sex (though her experiences have been limited, and often nerve-wracking, guilt-inducing or rushed – or all three), but she hasn't experienced _this._

Suddenly she can see all those moments of, "I'll just walk her home," or, "We were just in the other room talkin'," that Wheeler so often seamlessly explains away have all been utter shit.

She's definitely underestimated his activities over the years, and she's never been so glad of something in all her life.

She thinks she actually hurts him when she comes – her fist tightens in his hair and she thrusts hard against him. _"Oh,_ " she gasps. " _Mon dieu, mon dieu. Ne vous arrêtez pas."_

She's still panting and her hips are still moving slowly when Wheeler shifts beneath her, rolling her over, trailing his mouth up over her stomach to close over her breast. His fingers press slowly between her legs and her body jolts again.

"Fuck," she whimpers. "Wheeler..."

"Gi," he pants, "tell me if you want me to stop."

" _Non,_ " she gasps, _"non, n'arrêtez pas."_

She doesn't know why she's still clinging to the French maid – waitress, whatever – thing. This has definitely gone beyond fantasy into heart-racing reality. This is no longer an alter-ego, but Gi herself, in bed with Wheeler, loving every fucking minute of it.

She hasn't even thought about condoms, but she's relieved to see he has one. Wheeler knocks over his lamp as he rummages through the drawer in his bedside table.

He buries his face against her neck and grazes his teeth gently against her humming pulse. "Ready, mademoiselle?" he asks softly.

"Uh-huh," she whispers. _"Oui,_ _monsieur._ _"_

He grins against her skin. "This ain't gonna last long."

She laughs, and moves her hips under him.

"Tell me what you want," he whispers in her ear.

" _Je veux ta bite dans ma chatte,"_ she breathes. She closes her eyes as he moves her leg around his waist and slowly pushes into her.

Her breath expels hard against his shoulder. _"Je veux que vous pour aller vite."_

"More," he whispers. He presses a kiss against her mouth and a new jolt races through her. He's starting to shift things toward intimacy, and for some reason it's making Gi's heart race anew.

"Tell me how it feels," he says, thrusting against her slowly.

" _Il se sent si bien,"_ she whispers. " _Vous me combler."_

"More," he urges. He starts thrusting faster, and the bed shifts back and forth beneath them; with them.

Gi's breath hitches in her throat. _"On se sent bien,"_ she gasps. "Fuck."

He laughs and kisses her again, stopping for a moment to cup his hand behind her knee and urge her legs further apart. His hand slides against her nylon stockings, which are still clinging to her legs, crumpled above her knees and at the ankles.

"I wish I'd known you spoke French sooner," he whispers, his breath heavy and damp against her skin.

"Mm," Gi agreed, curling her legs around his waist again. He presses them open again and shifts her hips.

She gasps and arches her back. "Fuck."

He grins and presses another quick kiss against her throat. "More," he urges. "Talk dirty to me, _mademoiselle._ Tell me what a dirty girl you are..."

He's started thrusting faster again; deeper, and Gi's clenching her fists into the bedsheets in an effort to anchor herself. She's sweating and her body is quivering and she can feel she's going to come again, even if this one might be too much; might hurt.

" _Je suis une fille sale,_ " she whispers. _"Je suis une putain. Est-ce ce que vous aimez?"_

"God, Gi," Wheeler groans. "Tell me you're close."

" _Oui,_ " she gasps. "I am, I am – but I've already – once... just..."

His fingers tighten on her hips and he holds her in place before he starts thrusting faster. Harder.

"Oh my God," she whispers. "Oh my God, oh my God..."

When she comes this time, her whole body stiffens. Her heels slide against the bedsheets, her stockings crumple and wrinkle against her glowing skin.

Wheeler comes a few seconds later, his breath hot against her ear, a soft, low-breathed sound humming against her skin.

"Fuck, Gi," he says, still moving slowly against her. "Fuck."

"Yeah," she breathes. She uncoils beneath him, her body going soft.

He rolls off her after a few long moments.

The air feels cold on Gi's sweat-glowing skin without him close to her. And, worryingly, she is starting to feel more like herself again now. Less like a French seductress. And she wonders what that's going to mean.

Wheeler rolls back after a minute, still breathing heavily. He drapes his arm over her stomach. _"Très bien, mademoiselle,"_ he murmurs.

She laughs tiredly. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah." He traces the tops of her stockings. "Where'd you learn all that?"

"Me?" She laughs incredulously and looks at him. "I did nothing but speak French. You did the rest."

"Speaking French was enough." He gives her a wicked grin, which makes her stomach flip over.

"Where'd you learn?" she asks, raising her eyebrow at him.

"Oh, I had a girlfriend before I came to the Planeteers," he says, slipping his hand inside her stocking to stroke the back of her knee. He closes his eyes. "We never went to school. We just fucked a lot."

"Charming," Gi says.

He chuckles. "And there have been girls here and there. To help me stay sharp, you know..."

"Sure." She watches him for a moment. He still seems totally at ease, which helps her relax a little.

"You okay?" he asks drowsily.

"This wasn't a mistake, was it?" she asks worriedly.

"Hell no," Wheeler says, his fingers curling behind her knee. He presses a kiss against her shoulder. "Best damn waitress I ever had."

She laughs, but nudges him. "You know what I –"

"Don't over-analyse it, Gi," he says tiredly. "Just go to sleep, okay? For a while." He tugs her stocking up her thigh a little.

"For a while?"

His breath whispers hot in her ear. "I'm gonna have you put that little apron back on later."

"Ah," Gi says, smiling slowly. " _Très bien_."


End file.
